


A Horseman's Syllabary

by To_Take_A_Heart



Category: Darksiders, Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Fuzzies, May Contain Crack, Multi, Sarcasm, Serious Characters Make Crack Possible, Snark, bring the fluff!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4244451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/To_Take_A_Heart/pseuds/To_Take_A_Heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking apart the Horsemen and their worlds- or perhaps words, from A to Z- because, while what starts with War ends with Death, you can't forget Fury and Strife between the two of them... Or the one who spells each of them out.</p><p>A drabble(?) series following the English alphabet, depicting times of peace, conflict, joy and getting Death to put a goddamn shirt on. And post-game, pretty much. Until they decide to put out a third installment of the game series and utterly derail this entire work. .___. But eh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. avenge

**Author's Note:**

> My hand slipped, I swear! ;o;  
> Or so my excuse is, and I'm stickin' to it.  
> I really like the Horsemen's personalities, because they're so fleshed-out.  
> I mean, if Death can witness Wicked K flying off on his magical teleporting top hat and keep a straight face, there really isn't anything I can throw at them to make them OOC.  
> And thus it begins!

Taking a tour of Death’s home was something I hadn’t even conceived of, because I wasn’t exactly under the impression that he _had_ a home. It was a silly assumption, however. While they had served the Council as enforcers for the most part, their main job was to raise hell, pun unintended, when the time of the Endwar came.

So, what else were they supposed to do with their time?

I felt extremely foolish at the dry sidelong look I’d been given, once I’d been shown inside the stone… Fortress? I bet my money on ‘fortress’.

Here on the old Raviim home-world, there was not a single other soul— Which is exactly what I was looking for. No people, no funny business.

_“It is one of the many worlds myself and our brethren laid waste to,”_ Death had explained to me one time. _“It’s for that reason that I make it my home. You can consider it yours, as well.”_

That was an abnormally kind sentiment from the sharp-tongued Horseman, so I’d accepted it as graciously as possible.

I just wasn’t expecting lil’ bro to be visiting at the same time.

“Oh. Hey, War.” I blinked and smiled at the armored behemoth— God, let no one ever tell him I called him that— as he sat in a chair in… Was this a foyer? It was a foyer, I think. I was about as sure of that as I was that we were in a fortress. “I didn’t know you were coming over too.”

At attention, as he always was, the Red Rider leaned forward, looking serious. Oh boy. “I was told you were being brought here for restoration.” Featureless, glowing eyes flicked towards his older brother behind me. “I may be willing to act on faith alone, but my brother would not.”

Oh. _Oh._ I turned to Death, narrowing my eyes to peer into his mask. “You— Sneaky, sneaky— Ugh.” I rubbed a cheek. “You brought me here so I’d be out of the way, huh? I get what I want, you get what you want. Except…” I shook my head. “What you want isn’t what I want.”

Death folded his arms, shooting a reproachful glance to his younger brother for spilling the beans. “I thought you would think fondly upon the idea of someone fighting for your sake.” His tone was plain and a little offended. “It was going to be a gift.”

I choked. “Last time someone gave me a dismembered head as a present, I had to spend a few days locked in a cell.” I quickly made to head _that_ off. …Pun unintended. “So no. No revenge. I don’t want it.”

If anything, the Pale Rider seemed _incredulous._ “So you _don’t_ want me to inflict pain upon those who bear you ill?” He uttered, and I could see his eyelids drop in bafflement. “I can’t say I saw this coming.”

I sighed and held true to my patience, holding a hand up. “I am saying to you the same I did to Strife, and to Fury.” I explained quietly, sending a quick glance to War to see if he was listening. He’s good at that I suppose, though. “You let things go sometimes. If the thorns hurt from holding on, then you let the damn vine go. Then you can bleed, and then let it heal over. If any of you acted out now, let alone in my name… So, please. Just don’t. Okay?” I spread my palms to them both.

War looked away, but his lack of speech told me he understood— Death, however, sighed and pushed my arms back to my sides. “It is understood.” He sighed again, but this seemed too _easy_ …

I glared at him in suspicion. “I can count on War to hold his word. You, I’m a little worried about.” I stated bluntly, and I heard a soft bark of laughter from the Red Rider off to the side.

“It sounds like she knows you well, brother.” War commented, almost idly. He shifted into more of a lounging position, the quiet scraping and metallic rattling of his armor one of the few sounds denoting _safety_ in these worlds.

Death only made a hum of assent.

I laughed. “I think I prefer the less-violent ways of getting back at someone, anyway— More fun, and repeatable too.”

War disagreed. “Less permanent.”

Death did the same. “More dangerous.”

I smiled. “Isn’t that what you two are for?”


	2. beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...no notes for this one, I guess.   
>  Huh.

When entering the Forge Lands, one would be hard-pressed to see something revealing that it was in the twilight of its life. It was too verdant, too teeming with life and nature to notice it by the naked eye alone.

But Death saw it, and he also saw his namesake being fought off, as well.

“Ho— Hold on! A little further to the left, or the rope’s going to break!”

The weather was fair, but the sun was harsh to anyone who remained under its rays for too long— So he stayed in the shadows of a stone wall, arms folded as he continued supervising the construction.

Or, more specifically, the girl aiding the Makers in their efforts.

She’d felt, unduly to be sure, responsible for the near-ruin Tri-Stone had been left in their wake. The Pale Rider had been asked to escort her back to the wild, lush world so she could lend whatever help she was capable of. He’d failed in dissuading her— _“What would a little girl be able to do for the Makers?”—_ and since that argument didn’t work any better than the last time he’d used it, he gave in.

“Whoa, whoa. Thane, cool it a little. You’re going to break the pillar if you don’t release the pressure slowly.” He blinked back to attention just to see that tiny female wag her finger at a being about fifteen times her size. He huffed bemusedly as the Maker scowled, but did as he was told anyway.

Someone telling a _Maker_ how to build something? Death could have laughed. They must favor her terribly, or the wizened people wouldn’t have put up with something so closely resembling insolence.

“All right, Valgus. Cut your lines, and Thane— Loosen your grip the further it goes, okay? I don’t want it rocking back at you.”

The silent, hulking forge-brother obeyed, and snapped the twined cable between his hands. Pressure released, the Pale Rider watched as the repaired pillar was slowly pulled upright, its base settling in its former place snugly. Then, the warrior-Maker let his own rope go, the counter-balance removed so it would stay where it was.

Wiping the sweat glistening on her forehead, the smallest of them all cheered and applauded them. “See? That’s how the humans did it. Entire empires were built with only hands and stone, no glowy magic lifting things into place or constructs to do the heavy-moving.” She giggled at their thoughtful, tired expressions, and then squealed as she was taken by surprise— Karn had approached from behind and plucked her from the ground like one would a dandelion, setting her onto his shoulder with a crooked grin.

“Yea yea,” the Maker drawled, giving her a little jostle. “Ye had some o’ the finest Makers at yer service, lass. How many o’ Man would it’a taken?”

The work-worn girl pushed her hair back sheepishly. “At least fifty, on each side.” She admitted, squinting under the sunlight. Then she laughed. “Are you trying to get me to say how great the Makers are, or how weak the humans are?” It was asked teasingly, and the Maker shook her a little bit more with a particularly happy face.

“Oi, now.” Once more, the girl was picked up like a bird hatchling, but this time she was set back onto her feet. Alya gave the pup a slightly reprimanding look, a hand idly patting down the girl’s mussed hair in the meantime. “Handle the lass with care, Karn.”

The youngest Maker rolled his eyes. “Ye don’t need to tell me, I know. But lil’ one can take a bit o’ fun, though, can’tya?”

The flushed girl chuckled, while the red-haired forge-sister continued fussing.

If Death didn’t know any better… He’d say that this looked like a family.

One like he had, where she’d carved her own niche and settled down in it unapologetically. This may have been an easier family to accrue, however. The Makers had already lost so many young ones to the Corruption, and only time would be the deciding factor if their race were to continue or die out.

Suddenly, his charge caught his eye, still standing in the shadows and waiting… Smiling, she nodded just once, if in thanks or agreement to something unspoken he didn’t know.

Death saw colors, and it was a question he had no answer for, whether something as cancerous as he was allowed them.

But he found himself nodding back, which made that smile grow, flashing in the bright sun, against grey walls and a blue sky—…

He didn’t mind a little color.


	3. chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I don't know why, but this one makes me feel like squealing into oblivion. ;w;

_“Come on sweetie, let’s show ‘im what we got!”_

War wasn’t expecting it, when his companion gave that reaction when speaking of their mounts. While Ruin was standoffish to her, he at least tolerated her presence. But Terror was downright _unfriendly_ to him, and the Horseman ran the risk of being bitten if he strayed too close while the beast was summoned.

The equine had arisen from the earth like a ghoul would break out of its grave, a black ichor gathering around his cloven feet and anywhere they stepped. To be frank, the animal looked as if someone had skinned it and forgot to inform it of the fact— The bleeding-red musculature was bare around the ivory bone, and the blood vessels were glistening with the same ichor sloughing to the dirt below.

He’d said it when he earned her the beast, but it didn’t suit her at all. She, who smiled and forgave and cherished, obtaining a mount so gruesome… The phantoms granted by the Horsemaster were said to take the attributes of their masters once tamed, and War had yet to see which facet of her this creature reflected.

She’d mounted her horse with an ease that surprised him, and sent a playful, challenging look over her shoulder before declaring the contest.

It had been a fierce, clenching anticipation that had seized him for a moment, giving her just that much head start. But then he took off at a run, calling his own steed beneath him to keep the momentum.

The flames that licked the ground and sparks that jumped high only seemed to mirror his excitement, and he gaily asked himself when such a simple thing as a _race_ had started scintillating him this much.

A challenge was a challenge, however, and one of his greatest failings was that he could not deny a contest when given by his brethren. And, while she was not brethren…

He caught sight of her soon enough, and leaned lower, urging Ruin faster. The blackened beast gave a deep whinny in response, an extra flare of flame appearing as he obeyed.

But, then his object of pursuit swerved, leaving the grassy field and entering the adjacent treeline. Then he realized it, lips curling up in an appreciative, fanged half-grin— Her posture was relaxed, keeping Terror at a pace that was barely a gallop, but not quite a canter. Swiftly and adroitly the skeletal equine weaved through the trees and underbrush, but the bulkier Ruin didn’t have as easy a time of it. He was forced to slow down to compensate for the wide curve his girth needed to make at turns, and soon that figure in the distance started growing smaller, flickering between trees.

She was _playing_ with him.

It was a game he could play, as well.

 

* * *

 

I didn’t think much of it, when I heard the heavy hoof beats of Ruin start spacing out a little more. I know it was a little underhanded, leading him into the woods, but there was no way I was going to subject poor Terror to the thorough beating that Ruin’s stamina could put him through. I know babying him wasn’t exactly smart, but I haven’t tested his limits yet… And I really wanted to win against War.

I knew War couldn’t resist his competitive urges— Or perhaps it was the exasperation, that the girl was heading yet into more trouble. I don’t know, they seem a little the same to me…

Then, strangely, the direction I was hearing those hoof beats from started changing. It was very slight at first, and I’d attributed it to echoing off of the various rocks we were passing, entering a ravine.

But then I realized that I was starting to hear them from _above_ , but it was already too late.

I made a loud, unflattering sound of complaint as I was hit with something bearing the force of a boulder, knocked right off of Terror’s back. He gave a screech in dismay, but everything moved too quickly for me to reassure him.

I tumbled with that something all the way down the rest of the ravine, the red, silver and gold flashing in between the green and brown telling me that I’d been dive-bombed by the Rider himself. Then again, amidst all the rough-and-tumble, I barely hit the ground at all, taking into account his impressive size and the possibility that he was shielding me from the crunching undergrowth.

In a matter of seconds, we spilled out into a small clearing, and I flopped onto my back in the grass with a wheezing laugh. Trying to catch my breath, I gazed at the Red Rider, as he immediately set to pulling himself to his feet. I grinned lackadaisically, not even bothering to do the same.

“Guess I lost.” I conceded with faux reluctance, giving a shrug in woe.

The scarred face of the Horseman just looked back at me for a long moment, and his brows then lifted in… Resignation? Then he let out a breath— Oh no, War _never_ sighed, it was ‘beneath’ him, I thought with a tired giggle— and reached down, grasping my arm and lifting me to stand. All without any effort on my part, believe it or not.

Once my feet hit the ground firmly, he looked at me oddly. His head was cocked back a little, like he smelled something funny, and his risen browline flicked a little before settling back down.

“No, you didn’t.”

I was given a push to go ahead of him, and I could only squawk as I looked over my shoulder, trying to see his face as I was spurred forth. Well, if that’s how he wanted to play it…

“Catch me if you can.”

I took off like a bat out of hell, cackling to myself, and I could _hear_ him roll his eyes before taking off after me.

I guess I did win.


	4. deception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of Fury's personality is shown throughout the novel, but hey. She still gets an A-grade in my book~

Hanging upside down isn’t as fun as everyone thinks.

Well, make that _almost_ upside down. If I was left completely upside down for this long, the pressure from my blood would have burst the vessels in my head a long time ago.

But the sticky, stringy webbing coiled around me gave me no room to even wriggle, and the fact that my mouth had been smothered didn’t help, either.

So, when I saw the head of flowing purple locks approach, you can say I couldn’t thrash around to catch her attention, nor cry out to let her know I was there. All I could do was watch her come closer to the shadow on the floor. It was hunched over, sobbing in a voice that sounded identical to mine— And I hated the thought that she may be tricked by it.

There was even a pool of blood near it, though that actually _was_ mine, and any authenticity it lent to the scheme was purely coincidental. Spider webs are supposed to be very proficient at staunching wounds, so I’m lucky in that aspect, at least.

“…Are you all right?” I heard Fury ask hesitantly, kneeling beside the shadow. Oh, I hope that she catches on in time…

The sobbing didn’t lessen, but I heard my voice muffle, “It hurts— Please, make it stop hurting. Make it not hurt anymore…” Wow. Does the real me sound that convincing?

Fury’s face softened, and she reached forth with a hand… The weeping died out a little, sounding more like little, strange chuckles than anything.

Her hand landed on what would be ‘my’ back, and it all went so fast from there.

The shadow whirled around, a semi-arachnid, humanoid form being shown from beneath. It had lunged at her in the same instant, but… With the same soft expression on her face, Fury lashed out with her arm, catching it around the neck with a whip of bright violet energy. It shrieked, and I was a little glad that at least _that_ didn’t sound like me, too.

I didn’t even see her arm move. The creature was swung into a wall, creating a small crater upon impact. It wasn’t given any reprieve, though; back and forth, back and forth it was smashed from the wall to the floor, wall to the floor, back and again… That crater wasn’t so small by the time she’d dropped the… lump… to the floor. The weapon was put away with the same anticlimactic simplicity, and she pushed to her feet, scanning the room with her eyes…

She found me soon enough, and I tried sending a smile with my eyes in congratulations. It was pretty dark in this corner, so I know _I_ wouldn’t have seen me.

Not a muscle was tensed, when she leapt up to me, fingers grasping at the webbing and pulling, relentlessly… It stretched for quite a while, but even it couldn’t stand up to the prolonged tension. There was a loud rip as the ‘cocoon’ around me split from one end to the other, and I nearly fell straight to the ground on my face.

An arm caught me around the belly, though, and I nearly hissed at the pressure against the wound. Once I was set onto my feet, I wobbled and leaned into the female Nephilim, holding my obviously-bloodstained side.

“Hey, watch,” She cautioned me, prying my hand away so she could see it. Thin, strong brows furrowed as she peeled the ripped edge of my shirt away, and she glanced at the exit of the cave briefly. “Come, we must be quick. I can find somewhere safe to bind the wound, but I will need to call little brother to see to its healing.”

I didn’t need to know which ‘little brother’ she was talking about. “Nooo.” I complained with a cracked voice, feeling woozy from the blood now given freedom to leave my body. It took me a second to recollect myself after she’d abruptly scooped me up. With that strength— She’s her brothers’ sister, all right… “Don’t tell War. No telling War.” I uselessly pawed at one of her cheeks with my fingertips. “Whenever I get hurt, he gets this stiff look on his face, and it makes me feel like it’s all my fault…”

I was yanked into lucid thought for a moment or two at the shock of a slightly melodic laugh being let out into the air. “I believe I know which look you are talking about.” She took up her conversational tone, evidently to keep me awake. Strangely enough, she was the most personable of the siblings… With the slight exception of Strife, who just has this thing with not being able to say what he really means. Or he words it in a very bad way. Which is why he and Death don’t get along at all. Strife says harsh things, but doesn’t mean them; Death means every word of everything he says… “Brother War doesn’t blame you for events out of your hands.” My thoughts were interrupted by her further reassurance. “It isn’t in his nature to ply fault where it doesn’t stick. That face…” She gave a brief hum of contemplation. “This is just my interpretation, but I believe that’s just his displeasure over it. The rest of us can take a thrashing, but he fears your life to be fleeting more than anything else. A fear all of us share.”

I watched her curiously, becoming slightly dizzy from the sway of walking. “You guys sure play it close to the chest, then.” I mumbled. “I don’t think I’ve seen any of you uncertain or afraid of anything. You especially. You’re always so… Calm.”

Fury made a funny face at me. “Do not mistake composure for serenity.” She admonished gently. “Death and Strife are one thing, but you don’t _want_ War to lose his composure. The last time he shed it completely, he lost his arm. Though…” A small smile was given to me. “That was the deciding factor of you getting to be here with us today, isn’t it?”

I ducked my head as far as I could, extremely embarrassed at the unusually fond tone she used. “…I just don’t want to worry you anymore.” I murmured.

She expelled a sigh, and pursed her lips. “No.” Was suddenly spouted into the air. “No, keep worrying us.” At my baffled look, she elaborated, “It keeps our heads in the game, and reminds us that we are still capable of caring, even if for things that are few in number. I’m not saying to deliberately dive into danger, but… Keep the boys guessing and worried, and I’ll… Worry in my own way.”

I could have laughed, if it wouldn’t have left me in deep throes of pain. “So, in a nutshell,” I reiterated wanly. “You’re telling me to drive them crazy, and you’ll go crazy on your own so it’s okay?”

She thought for a long beat. Then she nodded.

“Precisely.”

I let my head fall against her shoulder, no longer able to keep it up. She lifted her arms to accommodate, and I could only say one thing before passing out.

“Got it.”


	5. eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paraphrased quotes, pleasant banter, and Azrael is so, so nice. ;o;

“I hadn’t thought you would ever visit this place again.”

I jumped nearly three feet in the air, nose buried in my new book and unaware of the one whom had gotten close. I peeked over the edge of the pages and blinked at who it was, that had come to see me.

“Azrael,” I blurted without thinking, my surprise evident. “I thought the White City was going to keep a tighter leash on you, but look where you are now.” I smiled, closing my book and waving it. “I came to Lostlight to deliver a message to Nathaniel. He has family back in the City, and travel between worlds is still restricted for everyone else, so I was just letting everyone know how he was doing and vice-versa. And I got a nice present in thanks.” I made the book dance a little to show my literary joy.

A faint smile came upon the bronze-skinned angel’s face, making the lines of stress disappear a little. “It’s nice to see good deeds do not remain unrewarded.” He agreed, then bowing his head and gesturing to the side. “Would you walk with me for a bit?”

I grinned and hopped to my feet, tucking the book in my pouch and mirroring his gesture. “Well, I can’t float like you, but I can do that walking thing if I put my mind to it.” I tapped my feet on the ground as if in discovery. “Yep, still good at it. Shall we?”

A complicated look of amusement and bemusement crossed his narrow features, and his words had me coughing back laughter. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re the slightest bit silly?” He asked mildly, folding his hands into his sleeves as we started our stroll.

“Who, me? Nahh.” I waved my hand in blatant dismissal, earning a glance that was more bemused than anything. Then I let out a small sigh, smiling wryly. But he’d remarked on it before I’d even gotten to explain.

“It’s hard to picture someone so lighthearted living amongst the ranks of the Nephilim.” This next glance was a sidelong one, and I absently smacked at my ankle, squishing the gnat that was bothering me. Never thought golden grass could mean anything other than it was dead, but this grass was very much alive— Along with the auburn-leaved trees, with their pale pearl bark… This place was a sight to behold, but ridden with summertime insects.

“Ranks? What ranks?” I gave him a look, flicking my brows. “They aren’t _miserable_ , but they don’t lead easy lives, either. So I try to brighten up what little moments I can. Think about it for a second.” I hummed for a brief second, to get my voice warmed up for speech. “Everyone ostracizes Death for leading the massacre of his kin, regardless of… Who ordered it. He agreed to it, knowing it was the right thing to do. What if he decided not to, though?” My eyes met with a glowing pair quietly. “He’d still be branded the pariah for holding his fellow Nephilim above the survival of the Balance. He lives with the title of Kinslayer, but he still did the right thing. And all four of them have to live with those circumstances.” I then bobbed my head, vanishing the grave atmosphere that had gathered around us. “I like to think I knock everyone down to the same peg.” I winked at him, and his countenance spelled nothing but confusion.

“But surely they are not the only ones living with misfortune hovering over them.” The Angel of Death canted his head to the side, bidding me to clarify. So I did.

“Of course not. But I _am_ only one person.” I commented dryly. “While I’m not likely to drop by down in Hell to try and liven up someone’s day, I don’t mind wandering around others too. Because, regardless if your wings are white or black, wear horns or a halo, swing a hammer or swords… You’re all still individual people with woes and problems. And since _I_ don’t get to pick a side, I get to be the lucky gal to annoy everyone enough to forget that the world’s ending or whatever’s going on.”

I stuck my hands into my pockets, feeling triumphant as the angel merely shook his head, gliding through the air beside me silently for the longest time. Must have given him something to think about, then. Satisfied with just that, I’d taken to looking at our surroundings, and skid to a stop.

Azrael noticed my preoccupation, and looked back at me. “Is something wrong?” He asked, concerned.

I am ashamed to admit that my voice cracked terribly when I responded. “We are _not_ in Lostlight anymore.” I stared at him blankly, overwhelmed. All the ivory architecture, gilded in gold and silver, carved with stone guardians of griffins… “Did you just walk me through a portal without me knowing it?” I could only glance at him fleetingly, and it finally hit me, why this place was so familiar. "Holy—” I clapped a hand over my mouth. Bad thing to say around an angel… Wiping my hand away, I turned to him with my eyes bugging out. “We’re in _Eden_. I thought you said nobody could come here anymore!”

“I’d also said that my life would be forfeit once the Balance was restored, due to my involvement.” He mentioned this almost _meaningfully._ “However, due to the involvement of another, I am still alive. Someone managed to convince the Red Rider that collecting my life would not be in his best interests. An impressive feat for anyone, certainly.”

Oh, oh no— I pointedly kept my eyes on the smooth marble beneath my feet, feeling my cheeks burn. Dammit War, you weren’t supposed to say anything… “He already didn’t want to kill you,” I grumbled, rubbing the back of my neck. “But his honor was still infringed upon, so all I needed to do was give him an excuse not to do it. It wasn’t that hard.”

“So it _was_ you.” He actually sounded surprised, and I shot him a dirty look for tricking me. But he smiled again, and it’s always been hard to stay angry when an angel smiles. “I had figured as much, but I wanted to be certain. I am sorry for the subterfuge.”

“Yeah yeah.” I waved it off, finally looking up at him ruefully. “So you’re here. And, at the moment, so am I. The only question is, why?” I watched him expectantly, and nearly busted a hole in the ground with how hard my jaw fell at his simple reply.

“I’m giving it to you.”

And oh, did I have things to say to _that_. “What? What?” I never said they were _intelligent_ things… “You mean that you’re taking the realm that pretty much everyone killed each other over, and after locking it away, you smuggle me the key because of _why?_ ” My voice jumped an octave. “Azrael, do you know how many people would be out to _kill_ me if they found out? Not to mention the Horsemen— They said they didn’t want Eden, but they were still denied a world of their own and I don’t know how they really feel about it, and—”

A finger tapped upon my lips silenced me, and I stared blankly, waiting for some sort of explanation for the bomb of disorientation he dropped on me. He merely gazed down at me, and then patiently gave his reasoning. “It is a stigma upon us all, that Man was unable to be given the world originally made for them. It had been crafted with the love of the ancients, and perhaps they would have obtained a different fate, had they been nurtured there.” His finger fell away, and he drew up to his full height, all proud, wide wings and ornate robes… “But the past can do nothing but be reflected upon. It is dead, and the present dying— Only the future truly lives. And it is a sad future for a place so grand and full of potential, to remain empty and rotting for the rest of its days.” He inclined his head, as if expecting me to understand. “So I am respecting the kindness with which its spires had been wrought, and giving it kindness in return.”

A hand was held up, and a lustrous, aureate light twisted and twirled from his palm. It looked almost ticklish… I glanced around nervously, before sighing and peering up at him in defeat. If he was that heartfelt about it… Denying would be nothing but an insult to his noble intentions. “…I suppose I can stop by every now and then.” I conceded with a large sigh. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a little too nice for your own good?”

That hand gently pressed to my forehead, and the only thing I noticed while absorbing the ‘key’ was that it was very warm.

Then he pulled a trick out of my book, smiling serenely.

“Who, I? Certainly not.”


	6. façade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
>  Tsundere.  
> Well, kinda.

“Do you want to explain _how_ you got into this situation, or should I just step back and watch the show?”

I don’t know who it was that suddenly decided they wanted a farm of Prowlers, but I was sure I wanted to carve my thanks very clearly into their hide.

Even through his face-obscuring body-armor, I could sense Strife’s all-encompassing exasperation with me. “I didn’t _get_ into this situation!” I half-whined, half-growled in exertion as I spun a slash at another brave, ground-crawling demon. I wasn’t as proficient with my scythes as, say, Death— And while he hadn’t trained me with Amphisbaena as often as we would have liked, he wouldn’t have let me walk away with them if he didn’t believe me proficient _enough._ …maybe. “It found me, surrounded me, and is now trying to eat me. Care to lend a hand?” That same Prowler leapt at me again, and I angrily jammed the tip of one of the weapons into its skull.

Strife scoffed. “It looks as if you’re handling it well enough.” He lazily lifted a hand in farewell and turned to walk away, posture completely relaxed.

I tried not to snarl at his back, but returned my attention to my ‘situation’ anyway. It wasn’t his obligation to help me, so I couldn’t blame him for leaving. That, and this much of a demon presence still in the Forge Lands must mean an ambush of some kind. Not exactly what I’d want the White Rider getting involved in.

And it wasn’t something I couldn’t handle, as he said. A score or so of vicious, clawing beasts should be nothing, right? Just swing fast enough, and they can’t come close.

That theory almost worked, actually. Amphisbaena was very aerodynamic in any of its forms, be it dual-headed, dual-handed, or just single-headed. I could catch five or six of them in one go, if I was lucky. But they kept up their tightening circle, moving too fast for me to catch many in one wholesale swipe, and even then the blades just grazed them.

There was a slight up-side to their increased proximity, however. I was able to see the beasts more clearly, and when I saw something resembling a Goetic seal on each of their heads, I was able to truly understand what was going on.

I couldn’t afford to be careless now— I put a little bit of frenzy into my attacks, making more attempts to create a gap at the expense of accuracy.

Then, I heard a bang, and then another. Wondering if my new weapons suddenly started shooting projectiles I didn’t know about, I looked from them to the creatures falling one-by one in a fairly dumb fashion.

“This is getting sickening.” Or not— Strife strode forth, Redemption in one hand and Mercy in the other, pulling the triggers with a savage jerk of each arm. Suddenly, there was a path opened straight to him. He motioned to himself with the barrel of Mercy, but I’d already trekked my way over the dead bodies and started over to him.

Then the normally-unsociable Rider pushed me behind him, causing me to yelp and grab his arm so I wouldn’t fall over.

The air was pierced by the sounds of his bullets until there was none but one left, on its belly and trying to crawl forward. Strife huffed sourly, stalked over to it, put a boot to its back and pinned it down. He stooped to peer at the mark on its head, before pushing straight almost roughly.

“Samael.” The Rider’s voice lowered menacingly, and he lowered Redemption’s muzzle to the Prowler’s head, hovering right over that sigil. “You should know better. Hands. Off.”

The trigger was pulled, and I needed to remind myself that this was _Strife_ that came to my rescue, but even the resounding of the shot didn’t make it sink in. “…? ‘Hands off’?” I uttered uncomprehendingly.

With a disdainful scoff at the corpse, he holstered both of his weapons and turned to me. Of course, he completely ignored what I said. “Let’s go. We can’t stick around here, and we need to get you somewhere more defensible.”

I sighed and followed along, glancing at the side of his head grumpily every now and then. I couldn’t see his face, but he seemed to be… Brooding? I thought for a moment, carefully, before saying anything. “I never thought the White Rider would be a white knight in disguise.” Goad him into letting out about it was all I could think of, to be honest. Everything was too dangerous to remain uninformed about something just because he wanted to be tight-lipped about it.

“And I never thought War’s left arm would be in need of so much rescuing, once it was detached from him.” He replied flatly.

I flinched, stung— The backlash of it was clear, so I pressed my lips together and just quietly kept following him up the hill. I don’t think he meant it like that, but being likened to nothing but a byproduct was… It hurt.

I wrung my hands along the handles of my weapons, and the resulting hiss was made almost in comfort, the serpentine glow filling their etchings for an ephemeral moment. Smiling at the scythes’ gesture, I turned my head forward again, just to nearly walk straight into Strife’s folded arms. I stopped short and blinked up at him, smile falling away to be replaced by curiosity.

He exhaled. “It was just Samael trying to toy with us.” He stated this frankly, the black depths of his mask unreadable. “Evidently, you had left a bigger impression than first imagined.”

I stared at him, unblinking this time. “He was trying to toy with us by ripping me to pieces?” I asked bluntly, and his arms fell away from each other.

Strife angled his head forward a little, as if trying to stress something. “I don’t know _what_ his exact motives are. But if he truly wanted you ripped to pieces, he would have known better than to send a handful of Prowlers. Or even a Stalker. As I said, he should have known better.”

…Was that a mention of faith in _my_ abilities, or was it about knowing that he wouldn’t have let Samael get away with it…? A wide smile sprang up, and I started walking again, this time ahead of him. I hummed merrily at him over my shoulder. “Is it that Samael should have known better, or _you_ should have known better? Hmm, white knight?” It was a teasing poke, a prod, letting him know that his verbal obstinacy was forgiven.

I _heard_ him scowl and begin storming after me. It was a specific sound that was more of a feeling, but I’d like to think I hear it instead.

What I _actually_ heard, though, belied the wry amusement he hid behind that armor.

“As the damsel, you should already know the answer to that.”


	7. grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to mention it, and the plot bunnies took it from there.

“Keep your arms still, and roll your shoulders with the turn of your body. Don’t bend your elbows so much, so your shoulders take the impact and not the smaller joints. Yours especially.”

Death gave his instruction briskly and precisely, motioning with the curve of his own arm. His temporary student nodded, scanning the appendage thoroughly before imitating it with her own.

She was being very patient with the strict teaching, he was slightly astonished to notice. No matter how many times he told her to fix something, she didn’t grow frustrated, didn’t direct any ire his way— Only adjusted as well as she could, and responded to his sarcasm with a bit of her own.

He hoped the patience of the student wouldn’t exceed that of her teacher’s.

“Raise your arms, so impact is given to the trunk of your body directly. If you keep them too low or high, you’re distributing the weight to your muscles instead of your frame. That is mainly why most warriors grow weary of battle before their true stamina had ever reached its peak.” The Pale Rider once more corrected, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you keep your limbs within a certain axis in proportion to the rest of your body, you’ll learn everything else quickly. The curve of the blades give you leave to slash in whatever direction you need, with great force if need be; But the motions of the hands holding them must be small, or others can read your movements easily.”

Her eyelids fluttered a little in thought, and she turned her head towards him with an expression of enthusiasm. “Hold on— It’s like wielding a staff in that aspect, right?” She asked this with barely-contained excitement.

Death thought, and then nodded. “Yes. Knowledge in any other weapon will aid you in the learning of a new one, in any regard.” He replied, and was just about to continue the lesson when she started moving on her own.

The rune-forged scythes merged into one, the demon soul within rejoicing with a flash and flicker to life. One hand slid higher upon the stave, and the other lower, holding the arcing blade as if it were a bow instead. Then they slid back together, and the head of the scythe slowly swung forward and back around, a silvered pendulum.

The heel of a palm braced beneath the balancing hand, and the circular movement quickened infinitesimally. Soon, it was like a netting of glistening argent around her, but it was not to last. It slowed once more, the details of the blade once more visible, and then it was given slow, wide sweeps.

In spite of giving just a demonstrative performance, sweat had gathered on her brow and her arms trembled with the weight of the weapon. Deep, even breaths were taken to steady those wavering limbs, however, and a faintly satisfied smirk twitched her lips.

The onlooker almost jolted when she suddenly turned to him, face transforming into a cheery smile. “I’m going to get this right in a little bit, promise. So don’t go easy on me, okay?” She inclined her head in regard, once more taking her weapon into the practice stance.

A smirk of his own curled his lips beneath the mask, and he nodded in approbation. “I didn’t intend to.” With an eerie glow of deep, violent purple he summoned his own scythes, and held them in a mock-attack position. “Are you ready?” The girl obviously didn’t notice the difference.

She paled. “Uh— Don’t go _that_ hard on me! That’s just mean!” She sputtered, tripping over herself to placate him. “Do I need to appeal to your masculine side, here? Should I say to go easy on the girl? You know. To curry favor? I’m just letting you know, special treatment goes a _long_ way with me.” A nervous grin was paired with the widened eyes, and it was too much for him.

He burst into dry, cracked laughter, relaxing his stance and content that he’d gotten the rise out of her that he was aiming for. “Not to worry, kit. I’m not much one for mistreatment of things that belong to me.” In his enjoyment, perhaps he’d said too much— But the suddenly-scowling one didn’t even seem to notice, eyes narrowed and lips puckered huffily.

“You’re messing with me.” She accused him, folding her arms crossly and dangling her weapon from a hand almost comically. “That was mean, too. Generally, when someone looks like they’re going to cut me to bits, I take for granted the fact that they probably are going to.”

Yet another opportunity he didn’t want to waste. “You seem to be in one piece to me,” He declared loftily. "So perhaps your paranoia is unwarranted more than you think?”

She’d opened her mouth with a retort hot on her tongue, but then he was denied the reaction the second time around. He may have been too greedy to fish for another, he surmised.

There was a disgruntled sound made as she closed her mouth on her potential response, before roughly tamping Amphisbaena’s pommel blade into the stone floor and leaning on it. “You know, I think the saddest part of this entire situation is that you look happiest when you’re picking on me. Not to mention damn confusing.”

He froze completely, unused to hearing such things. Happy? Him? Certainly, there may be times where he’s moderately content for the time being, but he never considered himself to fall under the grasp of as strong and simple a word as ‘happy’. He didn’t dislike it, however. And nor could he exactly deny it.

Thus the Pale Rider didn’t, and focused on the latter part instead. “I don’t understand where you find it confusing.” He evaded airily. “It is as clear as day to me.”

Then, he was given the pleasant surprise of a decent comeback. “I don’t know about that. All the days on this world seem to be equally gloomy.” She grinned.

He chuckled.

“Not as much as you think.”


	8. home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which War needs to stop with the honesty thing.

War was astounded, and perhaps even a little disbelieving at how _busy_ humans were. Always going from one place to the next, talking and interacting with their self-made world…

It was no wonder, why they would have needed a place such as Eden to grow. And that this wasn’t even the Earth of his knowledge…

“War?” It was a squeak coming from behind him, as he peered out the tiny glass-paned window. He was careful when turning around, because this place was so _small_ … It suited her, however. “What are you doing here? And how did you even fit through my door?”

Of course, the first question was the only pertinent one, so it was the one he chose to entertain. “My brother calls for you.” He told her, and when she stared at him blankly, he clarified, “Death. He’s been intercepting missives from the fey, and wants you to deal with them.” He supposed it was still too early for her to instinctively know which of his brethren he spoke of by tone alone.

“And he demoted you to messenger?” She asked in wry sympathy, folding her arms.

“I will admit that my reluctance faded when I heard of your location,” He confessed, rolling a shoulder lightly to remove the stiffness from leaning over. “I haven’t seen the civilization of humans outside of the Endwar.” The Red Rider took a moment to consider his words. “I didn’t expect them to be so… Thriving.”

She hummed in understanding, and motioned him away from the window. “You probably shouldn’t stay there.” He was advised discreetly. “You might be safe in here, but if someone saw a heavily-armored, glowy-eyed person through my window there might be a problem.” Looking around with a pursed mouth, the girl gestured him towards a piece of furniture. “The couch should be big enough for you.”

He obliged by cautiously approaching it, and perching on the end of the cushions.

War was given a long look for a reason unknown to him, before she suddenly lurched forward, pealing with laughter. “Oh, what a sight you make on the sofa,” She giggled, clutching her stomach. He didn’t know why this entertained her so much, but he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. “But, to your earlier observation— A lot of the, hrrm, ‘colonies’ of humanity are this advanced. Some aren’t, though. And none of them nearly enough to contend in the Endwar.” With a soft puff of breath, she fell onto the cushion beside him with abandon, bouncing a little. “Of course, there are the lucky singular humans that change, form powers or something along those lines. But, as a whole, the human race doesn’t have a track record of really doing _anything_ as a whole.”

Her play on words wasn’t lost on him, and a question had formed idly in the back of his mind. “And you’ve lived in many of them?” He pursued the line of questioning. “These ‘colonies’.”

The shrug given was difficult to decipher, either in vagueness or modesty he did not know. “I make my home wherever I am.” She said instead, smiling nostalgically. “It makes me wish… The Nephilim could have seen it the same way, too.”

War saw the lack of focus, the dilating pupils and slightly parted lips— He didn’t let her get away with it. “They might have, had the right voice said it.” The Red Rider replied gravely. “But that would mean you never would have been. So you shouldn’t ponder it.” He bowed his head to look her in the eye. “I do not regret the past, nor what happened. And we received you in turn for our actions back then. We were properly compensated.”

No longer out of focus, those eyes widened, and her face went pink— He didn’t get to see it for long, for she’d sprung from her seat like he’d lit a fire beneath her and darted to another room.

“I forgot to put the water on to boil…”

His mouth twitched at the excuse.

“I’m sure.”


	9. ignorance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death should know better.   
> Sometimes, he's glad he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh.   
> Draven.   
> 'Nuff said.

“Don’t get into trouble while I’m busy. Understand? I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary.”

This was Death’s unnecessarily-stern message to me once we boarded the Eternal Throne, even going so far as to point his finger at me in emphasis. I tried not to be offended, but what trouble could I get into on _this_ ghost ship? Nothing was here but dull, boring ghosts that had nothing to say but how the smell of my soul made them hungry.

Which was flattering sometimes, but didn’t make for good conversation.

So, I gave him as flat a look as my face could possibly manage, and made a shoo-shoo motion with my hands. “You go find out what’s going on with the souls of humanity, and I _promise_ not to accidentally burn the ship down while trying to steal one of those fancy lanterns. Okay?” I drawled blandly.

He appreciated my attitude about as much as he usually did, but took my word nonetheless and scaled the steps to the throne room.

Sticking my tongue out at his back, I then jerked in surprise when I heard an earthen, throaty chuckle off to the side. Recognizing the voice, I immediately grinned and turned around.

Ostegoth peered at me with a smile in greeting, tapping his pipe against a claw to knock the ash from it. From the goat’s eyes, the curling horns and long fur to the heavily-encumbered robes he wore, there was no telling exactly _what_ he was. In the manner of creature, that is. A self-proclaimed seller of wares and goods hard to be found, he often had found the opportunity to pop up in whatever realm Death and I traveled within.

He refused to divulge _how_ he got around so quickly, but having him around was pretty convenient in spite of it.

“Look who it is,” I laughed a little as I jogged over. “Can’t seem to get away from the dead, huh?”

“Nor you, it seems.” He replied wryly. “This realm does look to be a bit brighter with the right company, however. How fare you, with the Horsemen? Surely sharing the lives of a family of roughened warriors must be difficult.”

I made a complicated face, before leaning over and cracking up softly. “Let me tell you a secret, just between me and you.” I paused, to add to the false drama. “The Horsemen actually _don’t_ live, eat, and breathe killing people. Shocking, right? Completely unexpected!” I lifted a hand to my mouth in the dainty spirit of gossip, and he laughed.

Then he coughed terribly, slightly ruining the reunion with the wracking sound. “You certainly don’t hesitate in abolishing centuries of disparaging and hard-hearted rumor.” He wheezed after the fact, blithely ignoring the frequently-occurring attack. “But you had better get your greetings out of the way while you can, or your companion will be dragging you off before you know it.” His great, horned head bowed in understanding, and his smile both thanks for the concern and a reassurance.

Clamping down hard upon the urge compelling me to do something about it, I smiled my acceptance, nodded, and drifted away.

Out in the middle of the deck was a circle of ghostly soldiers, as per the norm, with one in particular tirelessly showing a decelerated version of an attack pattern— Leaping and ducking, slashing and dashing all seeming to be done in slow motion. Which may very well be easy, for one of the dead. The ones without the density of a corporeal body easily had an advantage in battle…

“Boo!” I suddenly found myself heckling loudly, a hand cupped by my mouth and the other exaggerating a thumbs-down of disapproval. The violent jerk given by the captain’s semi-transparent body was very satisfying. “Who taught you how to fight, a three-year-old? Get off the stage!”

Draven turned, the glowing orbs he had in place of eyes blinking in acknowledgement of who was giving him a critique. But then he put his hands to his waist in exasperation as it sank in, and I honestly have no idea how he can go about his daily life without accidentally impaling himself. With all the various knives and swords sticking out of his body, that has got to be a painful affair.

“Who are you talkin’ about, lamb? Leave the fighting to the wolves, or you’ll get eaten.” He jeered back at me with a shake of his head. I’d forgotten how pleasant his voice was to hear, in spite of his incredible lack of lips or tongue to speak with.

I stared pointedly at his emaciated and wiry torso as he approached me, everything withered and missing from the ribcage down. “I’m not too worried about that,” I retorted airily, grinning impishly. “I’m too big to fit in your belly. What’s left of it, anyway.”

The fallen warrior angled his chin up in mild offense, and a skeletal, glowing finger poked me on the forehead. “Better watch that tongue of yours, pet. There are a lot of spirits missing theirs, and would not have a single reservation about taking it off of you.”

I made a face in distaste, then chortled. “You’d be one of them, huh? I think you’re minus half of what we would call a full complement of body parts.”

He shrugged a shoulder, and his hood shifted away from his face slightly. “All lost in fair combat. The Arena’s Champion made quick work of my flesh, but I made quick work of its life.” What was that tone…?

He’s bragging. Is he bragging? I think he’s bragging.

I quirked my mouth to the side as I briefly pondered on my response. …Nah, can’t let him get away with it. “What, really?” I morphed my face into an expression of doubt. “Death and I didn’t have a problem with it when it was our turn. And they said it was supposed to be hard.” I made sure to sound faintly disappointed.

Draven took the bait without batting an eye. Not that he had a lot of eyelid left _to_ bat with, but… “The Riders have been renowned for their vast power ever since the Council took them in. And the terror they wrought has only grown since they took their independence from it. I was but a human warrior, compared to something as awe-inspiring as the Nephilim… Or whatever it is you are.” It was an unspoken question, an implication to give him the knowledge he mentioned.

I pointed to myself with a pleasant fool’s smile. “Who, me? I’m nothing as grand as the Four Horsemen, or even the leader of the greatest army Earth had ever known.” I gave him that tidbit at least, letting him know that I understood very well what kind of warrior he was. “Why, what do I look like?” I smiled serenely, challenging him to step into the trap I laid once more.

Draven knew it, and dared the teeth of the trap to close upon him.

“Trouble.”

I felt the corners of my mouth curl up further and laughed. “All right, you win.” I backed off graciously, holding my hands up and letting them fall. “So, that wins you a favor from me— Is there anything of the Chancellor’s that you want vandalized while I’m here? I’m game.”

His wilted face still managed to look both perturbed and amused by my words at the same time. “I think I heard the Horseman specifically tell you to stay away from danger.” He reminded me, folding his knife-ridden arms over his chest.

I rapped my feet against the worn wooden planks beneath me and interlocked my fingers in front of me. “He told me to not get into trouble. I only get in trouble if I get caught. So, if I don’t get caught, then no trouble, yes?” I grinned. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you aren’t jumping for joy over the idea on the inside. You hate him more than everyone else does, and that’s saying a lot.” I wheedled him a little bit more, shuffling over to nudge him with an elbow in an area that wouldn’t leave me with a gash. “You can’t rebel against him at the moment, yourself. So let me do it instead.”

Then, I was surprised when he gave in, though without exactly admitting that he was. “…What did you have planned?” He asked carefully, tilting his head back appraisingly.

I tapped my chin in thought. “Well, even the dead have possessions. So, if you can’t strike out at the man himself, strike out at what he holds dear. And he has to be the most avaricious person I’ve had the displeasure of meeting, so I think this means just about anything he owns. Or… _Everything_ he owns.” The smirk that appeared had to have been criminal in proportions, and I slowly looked back over my shoulder, at the merchant standing there smoking his pipe.

He caught my gaze, and slowly pulled the pipe from his mouth, looking cautious.

At Draven’s sound of question, I gave him a glance that would spell nothing but entertainment in the future.

“And we have just the one here to supply us— I mean me, with what I need.”

 

 

Death seemed, to me, a little relieved once his business with the King of the Dead was concluded. I’d already said my farewells to my friends, and was waiting for him at the mouth of the hall that led below deck.

It was actually an interesting thing to see on him, seeing how he had his fists clenched in irritation just seconds before. Once he reached me, however, his voice conveyed his ire well enough. “The Third Kingdom most likely won’t return until their world is once more inhabitable to them. It makes sense, seeing how they would be destroyed with the demons still living on their world. Their return would be moot.” He sighed gruffly and added in a mutter, “I shouldn’t have expected it to end any other way. I sacrificed my life and there’s _still_ more work to do after.”

I grimaced in sympathy, and gave his arm a pat. “You’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I’ll help out, too. We’ll have Earth cleared out in no time.”

He rolled his eyes at me, but in the middle of doing so, those eyes got caught on something upon my person. “Hold on.” He reached out with a hand, and used the metal of his gauntlet to gently scrape something from a strand of hair. Crap… “There’s something… Paint? And why this color?” He showed me the semi-dried cherry-blossom-pink smear, looking pretty comical on his scary self, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Ahh. I don’t know. Why in the world would that be around in a place like this?” I laughed nervously, and I saw him about to reluctantly give me the benefit of the doubt when there was suddenly an enraged roar in the background, barely sounding as if it came from a person.

Death slowly looked in the direction he came from, and then back to me, steadily. “…Try to answer that again.” He advised with a sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest in preparation to scold me into next week.

I kicked at imaginary dirt and ducked my head, apprehensive before it even started. “…I decided to do Draven a little favor, since, y’know, he’s miserable with his life and all…” I mumbled, wilting under the increasing pressure of his gaze. “And since the Chancellor’s a common point of hatred for, well, just about everyone who meets him…” My voice got incredibly small. “I hope he likes daisies.”

There was only silence for a while, growing my anxiety in spades. I almost leapt straight out of my skin when he let out a short bark of laughter, clapping a hand to his head and pushing his hair back in exasperated bemusement. “There’s going to be a bounty on our heads before we know it,” He complained halfheartedly. “Daisies? What do you mean by ‘daisies’?”

I peeked up at him, and found courage to answer through the fact that he no longer was in admonition-mode. “I mean daisies in the way that everything that isn’t nailed down in his chambers now had them painted all over them and put somewhere else.” I scratched my head sheepishly. “I’m not that good at art, though, so he might take it as a fungus spore or something…”

He closed his eyes, shook his head, and then proceeded to push me ahead of him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no way to obtain such pigments in a place like this, and you were too busy bothering the dead to cause any mischief.” He responded nonchalantly, like he was mentioning something common like the weather. But when I sent a curious look over my shoulder, I could have _sworn_ I saw his eyes smile behind the mask.

“I never liked him.” Was all he said.

I laughed.


	10. jest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poking fun at the Horsemen may have unforeseen consequences.

“I feel like I need a bath.”

Death snorted in amusement at this, sharing a look with his youngest brother as I walked between them, shuddering and rubbing my arms.

“Welcome to the work of the Horsemen,” The Pale Rider sneered lightly. “Isn’t it grand?”

I shifted out of the overt show of discomfort, but I couldn’t rid myself completely of the disgust. Glancing around the partially-repaired tower of Black Stone, my mouth turned down further in a failed display of irritation. “She’s just so… Creepy. How does someone act that creepy so naturally? Does she do that on purpose?” I suddenly blurted out, looking between the both of them for my answer.

War remained silent, but Death had more to say. “That isn’t the reaction most give to Lilith’s advances.” He informed with the slightest of huffs at the end. “I am proud of War’s tenacity, however.”

The Red Rider was successfully provoked.

“Do not patronize me, brother.” He said sharply, giving a look that could be considered _sullen_. Death looked to be satisfied with having brought that up, but I couldn’t help but ask.

“Proud of his tenacity?” I repeated curiously, idly rubbing the back of my neck. Needing to look so far up to see them makes it hurt after a while…

The eldest had the air of someone whom had just gotten what he wanted, and I asked myself if War was going to hate me for being so predictable. It was the Red Rider himself, however, that elaborated. “In our last encounter with her on official business, Death made me stay behind, fearing I wouldn’t have the willpower to resist.” He scowled faintly.

I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop that laugh that almost came out, because that was mean on many different levels. That, and… I can understand Death’s concern a little. War didn’t have a dishonorable bone in his body, but he was terribly honest. When you mix honesty with that much nobility, it sometimes spells out an easy path for manipulation. Whether or not that concern was founded left me clueless, though.

I decided to do War a favor, though, and take the heat off of him.

So I directed a pointed, knowing look to Death instead.

“Oh, right. Because _he_ wouldn’t have the willpower to resist. Exactly.” I tutted without an ounce of belief. “What, was I just born yesterday? Death, that is the worst excuse _ever_.”

Neither of them expected the turn that the conversation had taken, and we’d slowed to a complete stop on the way out of this place.

Death looked to be nothing if not flabbergasted, from the way his shoulders hung forward. “Not even in her dreams.” He declared with a deadpan tone, sounding to all the world as if I’d mentioned him laying with a swine for how he reacted.

War was the one seeming a little smug, this time. “Her point is made, brother. You shouldn’t have worried on my behalf.” He stated, and it really showed how they got along with how he didn’t unnecessarily rub his face in it.

I held a hand up. “In spite of that,” I interrupted any further attempts at quarreling. “I get why Death didn’t want you, err, exposed to her? Haah, trying to say something about it without sounding suggestive is difficult…” I sighed under my breath. Then I threw myself under the bus, because I’d rather them argue with me than with each other. “I wouldn’t want you going off on your own to talk to her either.”

Death, oddly enough, shot me an accusatory look while War did nothing but growl lowly. “You should bite down on your words before they come to return the favor.”

I stared at the both of them, baffled. What did they _think_ I said? “You aren’t jumping to conclusions or misunderstanding, are you?” I asked plainly. “I wasn’t underestimating either of you. I was referring back to when I said she was creepy. And generally, nobody wants to be around creepy people.” I shivered again at the memory of the meeting that had just happened a few minutes ago. “She reminded me of… A snake. Not the good kind of snake, but the bad one. She even practically had the skin of one, all pebbled like that. Yeagh.” I shook my head after the funny sound I made, and we started walking again.

The air was oddly fresh after we left the desolate castle, and it was under the eerie sun that Death had continued the discussion, now that there weren’t any toes being trampled on.

Who would have thought that a race of warmongering world-travelers would be so sensitive?

“Hmph.” The shorter of the two seemed wryly entertained. “I think my brother would have preferred the misunderstanding— The one he actually had, however.”

War narrowed his eyes at him. “There are oft times when you say too much, Death.” He muttered. “And there was no misunderstanding.”

Hearing the tone of ‘drop it’ quite clearly, I hummed and turned the topic elsewhere. “So, Death. About that little visit you made…”

“I was about as revolted as you were.” He admitted without missing a beat. “That she keeps referring to herself as our ‘mother’ was the final nail in the coffin.” His voice went lofty, almost arrogantly so. “She had information I needed, nothing more.” Then, the pride melted away to be replaced by thoughtfulness. “Though, it is strange to be telling these tales to someone else, I think. We never talked this much when carrying out a task, have we?” He looked to his brother.

The youngest sibling’s response was dry. “We never had someone else accompany us, either.”

I scrunched my face up in displeasure at them. “Are you saying I talk too much?” I demanded, glaring. They weren’t intimidated by it very much. To the contrary, I believe the atmosphere shifted to that of lighthearted amusement.

“You said it, not I.” Death negated calmly, looking to War in askance. “Did you?”

“Nor I.”

I sulked for a few moments, grumbling. “Why does everyone pick on me…?” Given a pat on the shoulder by a big hand, I was actually surprised that it was War giving such a show of solidarity. Then I remembered that he’s the youngest of four siblings, so he _would_ sympathize with my plight. So I sighed theatrically and set up an ambush. “Looks like we’re left as the only ones on the same side, War. We should probably discuss the next plan of attack, then.” I grinned. “I was always told that when you go after someone, go after their treasured items. Right, Death?” I smiled meaningfully. “So, I wonder what would happen if I spirited off with his precious little brother? What do you say, War? Want to elope?”

Their reactions were priceless.

War stared at me like I had an arm growing out of my eye socket; And Death’s incredulity got to the point that his voice actually _cracked_. “You aren’t serious.” He uttered blankly.

Ignoring the latter, I looked to the former and winked, elbowing his arm. “Well?”

Then, finally, he snorted faintly and focused his attention ahead, saying only one thing.

“If he keeps it up, then we will see.”

His older brother then proceeded to chuckle to himself. “And here I was worried about _Lilith._ ” He shook his head. “Is your familial loyalty so easily swayed, War? I never thought you capable of it.” He lifted and waved a hand dismissively. “There would be nowhere for you to hide, anyway. I would find the both of you easily.”

I sputtered, a large grin appearing as I reached over and shoved him off to the side. He didn’t see it coming, so instead of just standing there and letting me make a fool of myself as he braced against my weight, he actually stumbled aside a few steps, blinking. “Did you just challenge us? Did you hear that War? That sounded like a challenge, didn’t it?” I met the Red Rider’s gaze with a cackle.

I should have paid more attention.

Letting out a shouted expletive, I was picked up around the middle simply and tossed over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Deeeaaath!” I yelped as I was given a shake for good measure. “Put me down! I was just joking around!”

The eldest ignored me, speaking to War instead. “Of course, I could just avoid all that work and prevent it to start with.” He said this in a droll tone, and I could imagine a complacent smirk under that mask. “So I’ll make a deal with you, War. You don’t run off with the girl, and I’ll let her stick around a little bit longer.” A little bit longer? Really? “I’d suggest you take it, or I may have to resort to something drastic.”

Just when I was asking myself how this joke was sent spiraling so completely out of control, War huffed out a breath. “I’d feel bad for her captor.” He mentioned. “I will have to agree, then.”

I slumped, letting out a sighing laugh. “You two are more dangerous than even I first thought. Did you know that?” I said tartly, halfhearted.

Death scoffed. “As if _we_ know what you’re thinking?”

Biting my tongue on an under-handed remark about _what_ , exactly, I was thinking right now, I chose my dignity instead and just heaved a sigh.

It was War, however, that delivered the final blow for me anyway.

“This is rare, brother. Seeing you make excuses to execute the same plan as the enemy? It’s a little pitiable, too.”

I could only crack up as I felt Death quicken his pace, rolling my eyes.

Boys.


	11. kindred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which fears nearly come to life, but War knows no fear.

_“Death! I’ve found her!” It was a shout from Fury quite a distance away, at the other side of the moor as he checked around the bend. He was halfway there before the panic set in, her voice arcing high with its notes. “Maker, she’s cold! Get over here, and quickly!”_

_Without a second thought, the Pale Rider threw his scythe into the sky between one footstep and the next, its blade carving wide gashes of flashing violet against it._

_Signal successfully given, Death dropped to his knees beside his sister. The Black Rider gingerly, fretfully tugged tangled clothing and hair out of the way. “Where had you found her?” Death asked immediately, pushing soaked locks away to try to catch a pulse._

_Fury glanced between the two of them, anxiety apparent as she squeezed a small hand, obviously for no comfort other than her own. “She’d washed ashore like this. I think she’d been...”_

_Death knew the words she wasn’t saying._

_Her body had been dumped._

_The clammy skin gave no pulse of life beneath his fingertips, and he swore softly, looking over his shoulder. “What is **taking him—**?” Just as he hissed this, a speck of orange appeared at the horizon, steadily growing larger as the beast carried his brother closer. _

_His sister, however, took no heed. “We need to remove the water from her lungs,” The level-headed one of the Four seemed to have lost her rationality, unable to accept the truth of their situation. But he followed along, willing his own denial to drown the facts just as the brackish water had this one’s breath._

_His sibling propped the girl limply in her arms, and with a hand in front and in the back, he gently pressed along her diaphragm. The ribcage bowed slightly beneath his strength, and the airways were constricted…_

_Drip, drip, plop._

_With each pumping action, more brine and liquid slipped out from between two lips, until there was no more. And it was right in time, as well— Boots solidly bit into the soft earth as War dismounted, sweeping over swiftly and with care. “She breathes?”_

_“She does not.” Fury mourned quietly, head hung and turned away._

_“Brother, can you—?” Death never finished, given pause and silence as the body was pulled from the both of them._

_War stood with the recently-deceased, and his face became almost bitter with the same expression of angered grief Death had seen on him on only one other occasion. “…It never becomes easier.” He stated solemnly, closing his eyes. “This is the second time, and it still feels like the first. We must be more cautious from now on.” With only that said, he was surrounded by a whirlwind of fire and ember, body reforming, reshaping— Soon he stood not as a Rider, but a beast of Chaos, flowing with the power that coursed through him as naturally as the mire did where they stood. Yet, this was not sluggish, not the mild bleed of a flesh wound. It rushed and it poured, spilling in violent torrents growing between them._

_Just as it spilled and poured, so did she._

_The part of him inside of her glowed with his rage, his life and essence; And just as he did, her life didn’t splash like a mortal dewdrop, but spilled and poured alike._

_The one he held, so dwarfed in comparison, bathed and soaked in what would singe and peel any other. Moisture that had clung so stubbornly to skin, cloth and hair willingly gave up against the burn, bidding its farewell in a brief cloud of mist._

_Then, there was a yawn, and a stretch, as if nothing more than a feline awakening from a nap._

_Groggy eyes slowly blinked, and the sleep was rubbed away with a pair of careless hands. Another yawn came, this time carrying words. “Stupid crocodile-thing… Just wait til I— Oh. Oh.” She processed her immediate situation right then, seeing the immense relief in the ones still crouched on the ground in anticipation. Then she looked to the one still supporting her, and smiled hesitantly, ruefully. “…Sorry.”_

_While it had been an apology made to a beast, it was soon a man holding her, hellish form gone like it had never existed. And it was that man whom had responded._

_“As am I.”_

* * *

The fire made in the middle of camp radiated with flickering light and warmth, reaching out to the forms of the gathered Horsemen and their companion.

Death was oddly restless, switching from gazing into the flames, to glancing around their environment, and then fleetingly checking upon the sleeping breaths seen through thick blankets on the other side. He said not a word, but the sentiment borne by his youngest brother was mirrored in him, as well. The first time he’d witnessed her death was when he himself had been delivered from its clutches at the breaking of the Seventh Seal. And it had been War whom had revivified her corpse then, as well. It did not sit well with his sense of guilt…

Fury stared pensively into the fire, unmoving, meditating or otherwise none of them knew. But they’d seen how shaken this had her— This was the first time she’d experienced it, and the inability to act hit her hard.

Strife had rejoined them later into the night, claiming to have been ‘taking care of something’; It was clear that none of them would be hunting come daybreak, for there was no longer anything to hunt. He understood that he would be close to useless should she be found, and occupied himself with something he could actually _do_. And the bloodshed was future catharsis for the news he’d returned to, regardless.

It was War, however, whom seemed to be outwardly affected the most. The mask of a scowl nearly turned snarl was painted across his facial features, as he sat and brooded beside the bundled lump. It was over, he knew this. And yet it did not give his turmoil cause to relent, nor his worries cause to abate.

As long as he remained, she would as well. But, should he finally fall one day, he would be spelling out both of their deaths. It was far from what he wanted, but he could not give his word that his life would stay within reach…

It was Strife that broke the silence, his tone unassuming. “Say, Death. I have an idea.” All eyes turned to him at that, and he paused as if considering something. “If she should put herself in a situation like that a third time, we should just forgo the resurrection. You could use necromancy instead, and she’ll be a willing slave the rest of her un-life. Then we could just tell her to stay out of trouble, and we won’t have to worry.”

“Oi. I heard that, you ass.” Was the loud grumble slightly muffled under the blankets, and that was all it took for the tension to break.

Strife’s voice was innocent. “I was just giving something to think over. And, if that should give you extra motivation to not gallivant without us, then it is an extra master served.”

Now fully roused, the girl sat up, completely in disarray, and glared at him. He didn’t seem too convinced by it. “Quit it with the ‘master’ hints. You are sick and twisted and frankly I feel you’d make a better servant than me. Footstool.” None of the words had bite to them, but he was amused anyway.

“Footstool? Now that’s harsh.” He drawled. “Besides, that’s what you have the youngest and eldest for. One for each foot. Fury and I are just here for the entertainment.”

She started struggling with her blanket, trying to get up to possibly kick him in the shin or somesuch, but a large metal hand landed firmly on the blanket, keeping it tucked where it was. “Don’t let him provoke you.” War advised, shooting a look to Death for letting Strife run unchecked. “Go to sleep, we leave in the morning.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and set her elbows upon the back of his hand, propping her chin in both of hers. “And how am I supposed to go to bed when you’re making that face?” She asked candidly, and his flinch was highly visible. “This feels like you were the one to kick the bucket and I tripped over your body or something. But while I got the case of fatality, everyone else got the trauma, so…” Her hands were wiped down her face, and his hand was released. “Can I say thank you? Since everyone worried so much. I know that’s not the right thing to say, exactly, but I mean it.”

Fury smiled faintly, but said nothing, still watching the flames; Strife scoffed, folded his hands behind his head and laid back on the ground; And while War angled his face away, Death shifted to get more comfortable, bringing a knee up to rest his arm on.

“I wouldn’t thank us, if I were you.” The Pale Rider said this as if only making a comment, but his eyes were serious. “If you begin showing us gratitude for selfish behavior, who knows what we’d try to get away with?”

War watched in curiosity as she abruptly disappeared under the blanket, pulling it over her head with a sound of discontent. He pulled it back off without thinking, and she glowered at him. “Stop playing around.” He ordered flatly. “Go. To. Sleep.”

She scowled her defiance, and Death started chuckling. “Perhaps necromancy would help you, in this.” His tone became mild. “You wouldn’t be very pretty, but at least someone would take you seriously when you make faces like that, if you were half rotten-away.”

She sputtered. “Do you _hear_ him, War?” It was demanded of him, and he was slightly unsure as to what she was talking about. “Your brothers are all unscrupulous, every single one of them! How did you come from the same place as them, huh?”

“I hope I’m not the only one who notices how the seniority roles are reversed, to her.” Fury murmured, wiping her mouth to hide her smile.

The White Rider beside her let out a laugh of derision. “Unscrupulous? Hah!”

“Scruples do tend to get in the way of one’s goals,” Death said this like an admittance. He lifted a hand negligently and gave a small wave with it. “But I did make a point, didn’t I?”

Seeing that War wasn’t going to back her up on this one, she folded her arms and sniffed.

“I’d still be prettier than you.”

“Oh-ho-ho, ouch.” Strife winced with a laugh, rolling onto his side with a shake of his head. “Looks like she made a point too, brother.”

Sending a dry look to Fury, whom was idly covering her mouth again, Death shrugged a shoulder. “I’d rather look like I do than have to keep a death count for myself.”

She laughed, putting her fists up with a little growl. “Come over here and say that,” She challenged, grinning. “And you’re a hypocrite, too. You started on your death count long before I did!”

“All right, break it up children.” Strife sighed theatrically, rolling over to look at them. “Preferably before you break out the fisticuffs. She may look weak, Death, but my stomach assures you that a punch made with metaphysical strength hurts just as badly as one made with regular strength.”

She pouted. “I apologized for that, didn’t I?”

He stated bluntly, “Not even close.”

About to retort once more, enjoying the friendly rivalry, she squawked when her shoulder was taken and she was pushed back onto the grass. War stared at her with a cocked eyebrow, the downturn of his mouth very slight. “Ignore them, and rest. It isn’t safe to be so active this soon, and they will blame me if you aren’t able to travel tomorrow.” Once more the thick blanket was pulled up, but this time she didn’t resist.

But she did grumble.

“So damn pushy…”

They couldn’t help but shake their heads to each other, when soft snoring was heard just five minutes later.


	12. lunacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which stuff gets crazy and that's your native tongue. B)

“You shall not pass!”

I blinked as a cane was waved perilously close to my face, nearly going cross-eyed to track it. Death sighed and swatted it away, pointing a finger at the strange zombie. “How many times must I kill you?” He asked exasperatedly, spreading the hand with another sigh.

War looked surprised. “You as well, brother?” He asked, looking distastefully at the tainted human.

Wicked K— Otherwise known as Wicked Killington, as he had so graciously informed me earlier— clicked his tongue at them disapprovingly. “Kill kill kill, is that all you brutes think about? I was hurt when you hadn’t stopped by sooner! Really, it felt as though my heart had been ripped right out of my chest!” He then peered down at the glowing-orange, bulging rupture in the middle of his chest. “Oh dear me. I believe it already has.” He murmured to himself sadly.

I pressed my lips together, and decided to salvage the situation for whatever it was worth. Any other Wicked seen shambling around Earth was just a mindless host for the demonic energies infecting it. But this was the only one that was actually intelligent, and seemed to maintain some semblance of personality. Though, whether he was just as stark raving mad back in his mortal days was unknown to any of us…

“You’ll have to forgive them.” I lifted a hand dismissively, directing the creature’s attention to me. Ignoring the baffled looks I was receiving from each of the Horsemen, I continued, “But they’re always so busy, and you know how work seems to take over your life every now and again. These two have been doing this for centuries, you must know, so they have a bit harder a time of it than everyone else.” I folded my hands in front of me neatly.

Wicked K stared for a moment, before pink bubble hearts sprang from his eyes and popped in the air. What in the hell…? “Oh, you! You must have tea with me sometime— Nay, this time! Right here, right now!” He threw his arms into the air and spun on his toes. Oh god, this is going to be traumatizing, isn’t it… “Let those big ruffians go, and accompany me to tea. Yes, yes, that sounds fantastic. Oh, I do implore!” He clasped his hands and leaned forward, right into my personal space.

If he wasn’t some desiccated corpse walking around with a top hat and cane, this might not have been one of the weirdest happenings in my life. But, unfortunately, this made the list easily. And he was pretty frightening, this close…

But I smiled brightly, and giggled coquettishly. And the Horsemen better love me, because being crazy had always been a little too easy… “Now now, what do you expect me to do, hmm, Mr. K?” I asked archly, shaking my head. “I can’t just tuck them away in a pocket for later. They’re far too big. And they have business to attend to, and it would be just _dreadful_ if we detained them, wouldn’t it?” I added a winsome smile to the end, getting him to nod his head vigorously in tune with mine.

“It’s like they’re speaking the same language.” I heard War mutter to his brother in an insultingly impressed tone. There was the brief sound of someone getting a light backhand behind me, which I tried to ignore. Why can’t they ever make things easier for me?

The gentlemanly Wicked bowed dramatically, holding out a hand for me to take with a sharp tap of his cane on the ground of the cave.

I smiled wryly. “Mr. K, you haven’t answered my question. May my friends pass through unhindered? I shall stay back and keep you company— My presence is far from needed on this excursion.” I held my hand up, wriggling my fingers over his withered palm in a teasing dance.

The Wicked beamed. “But of course! The quicker the better! Please, gentlemen—” Taking my fingers with the dried hand, he gestured War and Death past him with the other. “Do take your time, would you? You could even choose not to come back, if you wish. Oh, how wonderful would that be! It would be never-ending teatime, then!” He sighed wistfully, unnatural eyes shut in yearning.

War gave me a hard, meaningful look, and Death led him past us with a derisive glance in the Wicked’s direction.

“Oh, we will return. Have no doubt about that.” It was all the austere declaration the Pale Rider needed to make, and they continued on without me.

I waved to their backs for no other reason than to keep up the ploy for this strange, unkillable zombie, and then smiled. “Shall we, then? We only have until the clock strikes twelve!” I figured that, being a former human, he would understand the nuances I had to avoid using around the others.

The animated corpse peeked open a single eye, and a crooked grin angled his mouth. “Or when the clock strikes whenever they fancy. Or whenever _we_ fancy, actually. Oh, the Nephilim are such a fearsome, respectable lot aren’t they?” He sighed in great admiration, lifting my hand high and leading me through a separate tunnel, walking backwards without a single care in the world. “Death was so courteous when he severed my spinal cord, and War— Such kindness he showed, when my head toppled from my shoulders! You know. You remember, yes?”

Okay then.

“Of course.” I nodded fervently, and skipped in my step. “But we can’t forget your own battle prowess, can we? Mr. K, I do declare that I haven’t seen a single Earthen creature to carry itself with the grace and finesse as you do.” I looked at him ponderingly, and then added, “Or with such a fine hat. I’ve had a few in my time, but none that float or teleport.”

An orange-rosy glow filled his grey, sunken cheeks and I asked myself _how_ , exactly, a Wicked could blush— But, after the bubble hearts earlier, I decided to just treat this entire scenario like it never happened, and just not question it. “Oh, such praise you give me! I feel utterly unworthy to have such words spoken about my humble self.” He demurred abashedly, and then stated urbanely, “And please, just call me Killington. It’s difficult to hear one’s name being spoken when all of your brethren are drooling savages, don’t you think?”

I giggled.

Crazy people…

 

* * *

 

“Do you think she will be all right?” War asked his brother, brows drawn together deeply as they continued deeper into the cavern. “I do not trust that… Creature.”

The eldest laughed under his breath. “You have a few things to learn about women, brother mine.” He replied dryly. “I believe she’ll do better with the madman than by herself, as long as she can speak. As long as she talks, she should be fine.” The edges of his laughter bounced softly against the dripping walls.

The Red Rider didn’t seem to like being underestimated in such a way. “You believe me to be so daft in my judgment?” He growled, but his brother wasn’t deceived.

“If you trusted your judgment in this case, War, you wouldn’t have asked me.” He pointed out calmly, before letting out a breath and clasping him on the arm consolingly. “Worry not, War. Worry not.” He assured him. “Rather than being in danger, it would be ironic if we avoided a fight by leaving her behind, and yet had to fight to claim her back.”

War’s tone was sour, making his brother chuckle. “Your assurances leave much to be desired, brother. But for her sake, I hope you are right.”

Death looked to be miffed as his youngest brother walked past him, before shaking his head in amusement and following after him.


End file.
